


A Bit Not Good

by Tigresse



Series: JohnLock AU [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Greg Lestrade, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Light Angst, M/M, Murder Mystery, Sherlock Holmes Becoming a Detective, Sherlock Holmes loves solving cases, Smut, Surgeon John, University Student Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12401547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Someone wants Sherlock Holmes dead.





	1. The murder

“Doc,” Nurse Molly placed two mugs of coffee on John’s table instead of one and a small paper plate with a few cookies on it, “He’s been waiting for an hour almost.”

 

“Oh damn,” John checked his watch, “The surgery took longer. I had forgotten to text him. I still think sometimes that he’s at home, his gap year.”

 

Molly shook her head with a smile. “Don’t worry, he’s fine but some of our nurses, male and female, _are not_.” She enjoyed the quizzical look on John’s face for a long moment and added, “Well, Eric for sure has a crush on him and even got him flowers. Imagine that, _flowers_. Mary Jane is convinced her husband is cheating on her and went home early to catch him red handed with the neighbor. Mrs. Carlson is convinced her eldest son is gay and went out to buy a book on how to handle queer kids. As for me, he told me exactly what I had done over the weekend simply by looking at my hairdo.”

 

“Typical Sherlock,” John snickered, “Now where is this man?”

 

“Here,” Sherlock walked in through the door.

 

“Abominable habit,” Molly murmured, “He actually waits for it.” With that she walked out of the room, suppressing a chuckle.

 

“She has a crush on Dr Fendigo,” Sherlock announced proudly as he sat down on a chair and stretched his long legs under the table, “Always applies some lipstick and sprays on perfume when she has to deliver even a small little message to him. Fendigo is the wrong tree to bark up to though, he has a problem with his….well, there is no polite way to put this, that man is impotent and pretends he has no interest in sex or dating just to cover it all up. How is the lady now John?”

 

John pushed the cookies and one mug of coffee towards his boyfriend, “Here you go. She is fine. Will recover completely in a month.”

 

Sherlock nibbled on a cookie for a few moments, then frowned, “Aren’t you gonna ask me how I know it’s a woman you operated on?”

 

“Nope,” John said, “I figured out how you found out. You might have seen her family, her hubby and two daughters, waiting in the room for her and pink roses delivered to her by a relative this afternoon. Must be a lady we’re talking about, mother of those two girls because her husband sure as hell doesn’t make my gaydar ping. Alternately, you saw my to-do list on the wall and saw her name ‘Elena McKinney’.”

 

Sherlock’s look was comical. But he recovered quickly and said, “You’re certainly learning fast Dr John Hamish Watson.”

 

“So,” John said, “It’s been a month at Uni almost and a year since we met each other. Time for a little celebration?”

 

“I don’t see a point in celebrating any of those things but if you wanna take me out for dinner then I am game,” Sherlock replied, “But I’d much rather prefer to go to that concert over the weekend. Paige Turner, one of the best violinists in the continent, she’s performing on stage after a semi-long hiatus. She had kids and all that with her actor/producer hubby.”

 

“How about we do dinner tonight and also to the concert on the weekend,” John got up and started to pack-up for the day so they could drive back to the ranch together, “That way, as always, you get to have your cake and eat it too baby boyfriend.”

 

***

 

The concert was nicer than John thought it would be and he enjoyed it as much as Sherlock did. A lot of his time was spent looking at his pretty boyfriend though, while his ears absorbed the music and the excellent acoustics of the brand-new auditorium. Sherlock was nineteen and half now and blossoming into a man from a pubescent teenager. He needed to shave every five days and his Adam’s apple was more prominent, there was a little more meat on his bones and his voice had deepened considerably. But the best change in him was the confidence he now displayed in his gait and posture. A year ago he was unsure, a little slouchy, but now he stood taller, almost like he was ready to face the world.

 

“Hey John,” a female voice called out to them as they were leaving.

 

John turned and saw Elle, one of his distant cousins waving at him. Though she lived in Dallas she was often over to Austin where her parents, John’s uncle and aunt, lived. While they had never been close, he didn’t dislike her. She was a nice woman in her mid-thirties, a banker, with two divorces behind her and had a child from each marriage. “Oh so this is the new paramour eh?” She looked Sherlock up and down and thrust out her hand, “Pleased to meet you. I am Elle Marie Emmerson. Do come over to my apartment and have a drink with me when you guys drop in to Dallas.”

 

“We sure will. All well?” John asked as Sherlock shook hands with her but made no attempts at a conversation.

 

“Everything is fantastic. See John, I told you when we met last time that a divorce isn’t the end of your life.”

 

“Oh yes you did. By the way, nice concert eh?’

 

“Oh lovely. I played the violin a little as a girl. Do you play any musical instruments Sherlock?” She was clearly trying to engage Sherlock in a conversation and John hoped his boyfriend would be polite, or cordial at least.

 

“I am actually a proficient violinist,” Sherlock replied, “I trained as a child.”

 

That took even John by surprise.

 

He gave his man a look but Sherlock was staring at his phone and scrolling through something that looked terribly important, but was in all likelihood a Google search on some difficult and long forgotten English word like ‘indigent’ or ‘discombobulating’. This was his way of getting rid of people who wanted to have small talk with them.

 

“So Elle,” John tried to wrap up, “Hope Josie and Chris are doing well at primary school.”

 

After a few more exchanges and a bit of banter, Elle bid goodbye to them and got into her car while Sherlock and John headed for a nearby eatery to have dinner. As they ordered ribs and a potato salad and cole slaw on the side, with some beer to wash it all down with, John couldn’t help but ask a question that was bubbling inside him from the moment he had heard about Sherlock’s interest in the violin. “Don’t you want to play again?” He said eventually, when Sherlock didn’t bring it up at all, “The violin I mean. Even I had no idea you had been trained formally to play the violin.”

 

“Oh the violin,” Sherlock shrugged, “I don’t think I want to. I mean it’s not something I like to do anymore. I am done with it, that’s that.”

 

“No it isn’t,” John said as he sipped his beer.

 

Sherlock’s brows joined together, “How are you so sure? There is no way to deduce this, so way at all. I mean I could easily deduce Elle has retained her last name from her second marriage, that she is a banker, that she has bought a new apartment in Dallas and all that jazz about her kids is only her motherly bias, but even I wouldn’t be able to say for sure if her story about playing violin as a little girl is true or not true.”

 

“Deduction is not just an art and science Sherl. It’s also an instinct. A gut feel.”

 

“And you have a gut feel I am lying.”

 

“No, only too hesitant to tell me the truth.”

 

Sherlock sighed, “I was made to play it again and again when I was in….jail. That was often the only reason the guard captain wouldn’t let the others hurt me. The superintendent was good to me but he couldn’t always be there so…..”

 

John understood. “It’s okay if you don’t wish to play again. But I’ll tell you a story. As a kid I had got an electric shock, a bad one at that. My hairs stood on their ends like a typical cartoon character and my fingertips were burned. Spent about five days at the hospital but the first thing my old man made me do when I came back home was to handle the same switch which had given me that shock. It was mended by then of course and no harm came to me, but I was terrified.”

 

Sherlock gave him a knowing smile, “And thanks to that, you never developed a phobia.”

 

John shook his head, “No, thanks to that I knew thing don’t always happen the same way twice.”

 

“All right. I shall give it a shot then!”

 

“I am glad. Think over it and maybe next week we can look at a few violins?”

 

***

 

John loved all kinds of positions when they had sex but his favorite one had to be this. He was seated on the couch with Sherlock on his lap, bouncing up and down on his cock with that absolutely harlot-like look on his face, his eyes half closed, his curls flopping around his head as his normally pinkish penis, now near purple in its engorged state, bobbed up and down with his movements. John was very tempted to touch it but he knew one touch would end it all. Sherlock had still not mastered the art of delaying his orgasm, unless he had been milked once and was going for a second one.

 

He ran his hands up and down his partner’s torso and groped at his balls, eyes on the longish mirror on the wall opposite to the couch, watching this mesmerizing moment with greedy, almost frenzied eyes.

 

Sherlock’s eyes met John’s in the mirror and his movements became more desperate, needier, feverish! He rose and fell on John’s length like a cowboy riding a horse roughshod over uneven terrain, bouncing with immaculate preciseness while his erection twitched and jerked with every nudge to his prostate. John kept his hands lightly on Sherlock’s thighs, caressing the soft skin there and encouraging him to open them wider so he could take a good look at what lay between those smooth pathways to heaven. The younger man obliged immediately, his hands coming backwards to grip John around his waist and hip, feeling the hard muscles there.

 

Suddenly Sherlock shrieked.

 

“Too much?” John licked at his earshell.

 

“Uhnnnn.”

 

“Sorry love, what did you say?”

 

“Oh….oh…ohhh.”

 

“I see.”

 

John no longer needed Sherlock’s words to know what he required. They had established a connection in bed that worked even in their most frenzied conjugal moments. He gently pushed Sherlock off his lap, wincing slightly as his cock slipped out of the wet hole.

 

He bent Sherlock over the armrest of the couch and re-inserted his penis, making the curly haired man moan out loudly again. As he fucked him into oblivion, Sherlock screaming with every thrust and pushing back, a white hot ball of fire skidded through him and past his inner vision to explode in his groin. Release threatened him and John knew it was futile to stop it, so he reached around Sherlock and grabbed that thick cock, giving it a few twisting strokes that always did the thing for his lover.

 

“Jaawwhhhnnn,” Sherlock produced a whole range of adorable noises, from soft yelps to hard grunts as his orgasm happened, five streams of wad shooting out of his throbbing length as he grabbed at the curtain which was hanging from the window nearby.

 

The racket Sherlock made drowned out the sounds but the doctor still heard a few pinging noises close by that were surely not a result of their lovemaking. He ignored them as he followed Sherlock closely in orgasm and, while he emptied his balls inside his partner, he heard Sherlock give a soft yelp again and then a loud crash sounded. The next moment John saw only darkness around him and some thick material covering his head. Sherlock let out a loud curse while John, still riding out the aftershocks, grabbed blindly at whatever it was and threw it off them. Their vision was restored and the sudden stuffiness around them changed back to the usual breeziness of the room.

 

It was only then that he realized the comical timing of the curtain being pulled off and landing over them like a tent in the desert.

 

“Did you just….”

 

Sherlock blushed beetroot red, “No….yes….maybe.”

 

John smacked him on the rump as he pulled out, “Now come on, help me put it back up. We don’t want Eva to come back from the grocery store and see this mess.”

 

***

 

“Doctor Watson, something terrible has happened.”

 

“What is it Eva? Is Sherlock all right?”

 

“He is fine. He has gone out riding his bike for a bit and not returned yet. You see, a package arrived for him in the meantime. So I asked Haas, Abe’s nephew who is helping me with the wallpaper, to accept the package for now and he did. A few minutes later I heard some music sounds, like out of tune music sounds, then nothing. When I went back into the living room I saw……”

 

“Calm down and tell me, what did you see?”

 

“Haas has been lying dead there Doc…..”

 

“What? Oh God, look, just call the sheriff and don’t touch the body or anything else in that room. Ask Sherlock to not touch anything either. I am coming back home.”


	2. The poisoned strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock deduces that he is the killer's target

“You all right?” John asked Sherlock as he wrapped an arm around the younger man. The cops were all over the living room, as was a forensic expert, a police photographer and a sniffer dog. The ranch hands were milling outside the window and trying to take a look while Eva was consoling Abe and his wife in the next room as they mourned the sudden loss of their twenty-five-year-old nephew. 

“I am, for now,” Sherlock answered in a strange voice. 

John looked at him with a start but chose not to question him at that moment. Sheriff Phil Andersen, a man John didn’t have much faith on, ambled over to them with his usual ‘know-it-all’ look. “So this is how the sequence of events happened here,” he read out from the points he had made in his notebook, “A violin arrived at the farmhouse this morning and since Sherlock was outside riding his bike the package was received by Haas Miles. Since that fella also plays musical instruments, he couldn’t resist opening the package and tinkering with the violin for a bit. The next moment he slumps on the ground and dies. Eva finds him already dead five minutes later with no injuries, no marks, nobody around.” 

“The violin,” Sherlock said, “Something about the violin.” 

Andersen looked dismissively at him, “No kid. Violins don’t kill people.” 

“I know people kill people but unless someone does that with their bare hands or black magic, there is always a murder weapon or a vessel or medium to end a life. I mean to say the violin was the weapon.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I know what I am talking about. Look at his fingertips, faint marks of a string, set of strings in fact. Eva heard out of tune music, which means he tried to play it and was tuning it properly before attempting a second time. In the meantime, his death occurred. The strings! THE STRINGS! There is something on those strings that entered his bloodstream and death was instantaneous. Test those strings Andersen, get them tested and you shall know. See Haas’ fingers, he had a wound. I can see the connection now.”

“Wait a moment kid,” Andersen put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes, “You are trying to tell me someone murdered Haas Miles?” 

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “It’s not about him.” 

John intervened, “Sheriff why don’t you just have the strings checked? You will know whether my boyfriend is correct or not.” 

“I first want to know what he means,” Andersen said stubbornly. 

Sherlock looked squarely into the other man’s eyes and said, “Someone tried to kill me.” 

***

“I don’t care if nobody believes me,” Sherlock was grouching the next day as he and John sat on the patio drinking coffee, “I know what I know and I see what I see. I can vouch for the fact that the violin was used as a means to get rid of me. Otherwise what explains the fact that a violin arrived when neither you nor I had ordered for it. Who sent it?” 

John put a hand on Sherlock’s knee and said, “Andersen is a bit of a mutton head. I shall call Greg and ask him to look into this case. He is also a member of the state’s homicide squad so he can take this on as a special assignment.” 

Sherlock was about to say something when John’s phone went off. The doctor answered the call, frequently glancing at Sherlock who seemed to be staring at the empty coffee mug with the attention of a hawk. His eyes were glazed over and he appeared to be in a parallel universe. In thirty seconds the call was over and John reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock’s knee, drawing his attention back towards him. “You were right my love,” he said, “The violin was the weapon. On the strings was found traces of a highly poisonous chemical which, if it enters the bloodstream, can cause death within one to two minutes. That’s what happened to poor Haas.” 

“I knew it,” Sherlock slammed his fist on the table, “I knew it.” 

John felt a nervous pang in his stomach, “But why would anyone want you dead? I don’t get it at all.” 

Sherlock’s blue-green eyes gazed upon John, “We should find out who sent the violin. From the package cover I could clearly see it wasn’t sent through a courier company. It was hand delivered. From the way the package was wrinkled, it’s clear the fellow made a long journey to get to this place so he’s not a local. He had stuffed the package inside a bag or something while he drove or took a bus.” 

“I am calling Greg.” 

“Yes you can do that but first we must pay a visit to Dallas.” 

“Dallas?” 

“Yes to Dallas.” 

“Why?” 

“Our most important question here is how would anybody know I played the violin and we were contemplating buying one soon. When it arrived, had I been around I would have picked it up thinking you had sent it. After years of not playing it, one does tend to get a small nick or cut on sharp and new strings and the chances of me getting poisoned to death were moderately high. Poor Haas took the fall but it was definitely aimed at me.” 

John felt as if his head was spinning. 

“No, no it couldn’t be, why would she…..why would Elle want to do that?” 

***

“Oh my God John, Sherlock, I wouldn’t dream of doing something like this,” Elle Emmerson was shivering almost as John, Sherlock and Greg Lestrade sat in her office cabin, looking at her, “I am family, I like John, we might not be close but think about it….how will it benefit me if I get him out of the way? I have never hurt a fly in my life. I may not be the biggest saint here but I am no murderer. John please, you have known me a long time, please don’t do this to me. I have no ill-will towards your boyfriend, none at all. Check my records, they are all clean…..” 

“Relax ma’am,” Greg offered, “We have just started the sequence of investigating a rather unfortunate event. We didn’t imply you did it.” 

She relaxed a little and held her head in her hands, shoulders slumped. Sherlock looked meaningfully at John who took the clue and began to talk gently. “Look Elle, it’s not pure coincidence that barely a week into our meeting at the concert we have a violin delivered at our house and a death occurs due to the strings being poisoned. Apart from me and Sherlock’s family, who is not in touch with him so much, the only person who got to know that he plays the violin is you. All we are asking for is your help in identifying anyone else who might have known.” 

She startled, “So you are not arresting me?” 

“Of course not,” Greg said, “There is nothing on the table that would compel us to do so. But you do realize that whoever did this put you in harm’s way too. So help us find out who it might be.” 

“I must say I spoke to three people about it,” she tried to remember, “My son, the nanny who looks after my kids and my new neighbour Darius.” 

Sherlock leaned forward now, “And how many of them know John?” 

She seemed surprised, “Um….this is peculiar….of course they all know John….hold on, my son and the nanny do but Darius doesn’t. My frame of reference to him was that someone in my family also likes to play the violin, not my cousin John’s boyfriend plays violin.” 

“What is the significance of knowing me?” John asked, “Unless you think that was intended towards me, the violin and the murder attempt that is.” 

“No,” Sherlock looked at him, “It was not about you. But it could still be related to you. Every murder has a motive hidden behind it and I am trying to unravel it.” He turned towards Greg, “Can we meet and question the nanny?” 

“Of course.” 

Elle looked shocked. “Why question Chiara, what has she done? Sherlock, I don’t get it.” 

Greg quickly explained the whole thing and inserted a little warning at the end. “Sherlock likes to do some amateur sleuthing and I am also keen to catch this killer,” his tone was stiff, matter of fact and authoritative, “So it’s a joint effort we’ve decided to put in to uncover the truth. Now Ms Emmerson, if you as much as breathe a word about this to anyone, even your kids or the nanny or your parents, you would be letting a potential arrest go down the drain. We don’t wish for the killer or the conspirator to be aware of our moves so…..keep this strictly to yourself or I might have to take you into protective custody and stop anyone from meeting you till this is over and closed.” 

***

“Jawwn I can’t breathe.” 

John loosened his hold on Sherlock, “Sorry.” 

Sherlock made a soft purring sound, one he usually made when he was hungry for affection and wanted a bit of smothering and burrowed deeper into John’s embrace. John let out a soft sigh and said, “Didn’t mean to be so clingy or needy but I just realized that I could have lost you Sherl. That violin would have been in your hands had you been home and for all I know, you could have started playing it and pricked your finger or cut it on a string and then…..” He let the last set of word go as ominous images of Sherlock lying still on the floor instead of Abe’s nephew Haas stormed through his head. 

“That’s all right,” Sherlock broke his chain of thoughts, “I feel needy too, tonight.” 

“I have absolutely no clue why anyone would want you dead. I mean I know you and your family….there is no love lost there, but that seems too much of a stretch.” 

“It is. I can’t say they want me dead, far from it actually.”

“Want me to take your mind off things a bit?”

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, “And yours?” 

“And mine,” John agreed. He did need to sleep and that wouldn’t come unless he was physically exhausted. His mind was racing a mile a minute. 

“Yeah,” came the soft response from Sherlock. 

John rolled them over so the younger man was beneath him and stared down at him like a starving predator. “I like the fact that you sleep naked. Saves a lot of time getting you out of those clothes.”

Sherlock had opened his mouth, no doubt to utter a smart comment, but John sucked on his right nipple and he began to immediately let out those dirty, hot, throaty moans as his hands reached between his legs and palmed his rapidly hardening cock. 

John squeezed the base of his cock and dug his fingernails in there, to fob off the orgasm that had rushed up the moment he heard those sounds from his lover. Sherlock had that ability to turn him on with the simplest of sounds and gestures, or even just a horny look.

He nosed down Sherlock’s long body in a languid manner, licking and nipping and kissing all the sensitive spots he had learned about, reading Sherlock’s body like a familiar map. The curly haired beauty arched up into those oral caresses, hands going to John’s hairs now and pushing him downwards. Goose bumps rose on his flesh and he yelped in an undignified manner when John’s fingers caressed the soft curves of his inner thighs. His legs parted automatically and he began to thrust up into nothing but air, choked moans now falling out of his mouth at quick intervals. 

“Jawn please!” 

“Please what Sherlock?” 

“I want….” 

“You have to ask.” 

“Huhhhh?” 

“You have to ask me. Spell it out.” 

“Suck my cock.” 

Sherlock threw one arm over his face to hide part of it, blushing and squirming from arousal as well as embarrassment. He was still a little coy sometimes and John actually liked that. He loved it when Sherlock came across as shy when it came to asking for what he wanted while he remained slutty and uninhibited in his responsiveness to John’s overtures. He gently pried his lover’s arm away and kissed his closed eyelids, “It’s okay love, you can ask me whatever you want, it’s my duty to take care of your needs.” 

“Duty?” 

“And pleasure.” 

“Pleasure.” 

“Also my privilege.” 

Sherlock lifted his hips, moaning. “Jawn I love you.” 

It wasn’t something he said often and had it not been John’s prime objective to keep pleasuring Sherlock, he would have paused to savour the moment. But he committed it to memory and went ahead with what he was doing, murmuring ‘I love you too’, ‘I love everything about you’ and ‘I love you so much’. Sherlock was now becoming a bit too thrashy and wriggly, it was becoming quite a task to keep him still as John finally reached his destination. 

“What the….” Sherlock squealed as John lifted and folded up his legs and exposed his tiny opening, then blew on the tiny opening. 

John chuckled and kissed the opening. Sherlock sucked in a noisy breath and let out a shuddering sigh. John parted Sherlock’s butt cheeks and stabbed at the opening with his tongue and Sherlock let out a loud wail. Encouraged by how his young lover was reacting to this, John dove in with complete enthusiasm and effort. Sherlock raised his legs high in the air, his toes curling with sensations as he enjoyed the feeling of that hot and hard tongue doing all sorts of wicked and naughty things with his arse hole. Then John began to eat him out like a cream soup and Sherlock kept making sounds that sounded like borderline distress. 

Then he started to tug at John’s hairs. 

At first John didn’t feel it but when it got really painful he looked up, “What is it hon?” 

“I am….oh God….I’ll cum like this.” 

“Then come.” 

“Ah….I….” 

“I will still fuck you, get you hard and make you cum once more.” 

As soon as he heard that Sherlock’s hand flew to his cock and he began to pleasure himself as John kept rimming him. In less than five minutes he came so hard, he shot all the way up to his collar bone and face and even got a wad on to the pillow. His shook like a leaf in the storm and his long pins smacked here and there, as did his long arms, almost as if he had lost control over his entire body. 

John kept his tongue inside as he felt his lover climax, wriggling it slightly inside the squirming hole till it slowly stilled and stopped twitching. He climbed up Sherlock’s body and smiled, “Was that good?” 

“Y-Yeah….but that’s not….not hygienic.” 

John laughed out loud and Sherlock pouted. “What’s so funny?” He asked. 

“Oh baby,” John kissed his chin, “Kinks and hygiene don’t always go together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this alternate universe, this is Sherlock's earlier 'sleuthing' days!


	3. The Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The murderer and accomplices are reveale

Chiara Wilson looked twitchy and edgy as Greg, Sherlock and John paid her a visit at her apartment. It was a one room apartment, too crowded with various items of furniture, clothes and books lying strewn about, and she had to literally shove things out of the way to give the three men space to sit. 

“H-How can I help?” 

Greg had decided to be their spokesperson as he was the cop after all and, when Sherlock nearly started shooting his mouth off right away, he silenced the young man with a stern look. John quickly put a hand on Sherlock’s and stopped him. Sherlock swallowed the anger he felt and stuffed his fists under his chin, staring at the woman through narrowed eyes that had nearly become slits. “Ms Wilson, we would like to have some straight answers from you. If you cooperate, I promise no harm would come to you. But if you don’t and you mislead us, it would be the exact opposite,” 

“But…what have I done?” 

“There was a murder near Austin and we have reason to believe that some information shared by you with your friends and acquaintances might have been an indirect cause to it. Do you remember your employer Ms Emmerson talking about his cousin John Watson and John’s boyfriend Sherlock Holmes?”

Chiara frowned and then shrugged, then straightened her back and finally made a dismissive waving gesture with her left hand. “She talks a lot and often keeps talking to her kids or over the phone while I am working or simply present in the room. I don’t honestly take what she says seriously, unless it’s directed towards me.” 

“So you remember none of that conversation?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

Sherlock suddenly quipped, “You need to quit lying Ms Wilson. You asked her questions about her cousin and his boyfriend. That doesn’t sound like a disinterested person who has been filtering out the noise of chatter in the room. Also, you joined Ms Emmerson’s services just six months ago, leaving a higher paid job with a millionaire couple. Any specific reason?”

Greg had initially looked livid when Sherlock had chipped in but the statement the young man made caused him to look at Chiara with a start. His expression hardened and he said, “I told you that you must not lie or mislead us. We are talking about a murder here Ms Wilson and any further lies…..” 

“I don’t feel well,” she gagged, “I need a moment in the bathroom.” 

“Fair enough, make it quick.” 

She rushed to the bathroom. 

John turned and looked at Sherlock, “Wow, what was that?” 

Sherlock looked a little smug. “I did my homework on her before we came here and found out that she has huge debts, mainly through credit cards. But recently, as recently as five days ago, she managed to pay all her bills and clear her accounts. Also, she has just accepted the former job she had quit, though she hasn’t told Elle yet. She was with Elle for a purpose and I have a feeling she was working for someone who had planted her there with a very specific agenda on their mind. As for her asking Elle for information on John and me, that wa a wild guess. It worked and she showed signs of……Greg, look at the opposite house!” 

Greg turned and looked, “Yeah what of that?” 

“There is a fire escape staircase one can access from the bathroom of each flat. All you have to do it climb out of the window.” 

“Yes so?” 

John jumped up, “This building we are in is built exactly the same as the opposite one and we just allowed Chiara Wilson to escape through the bathroom window.” 

“I’ll grab her downstairs, Sherlock you take the stairs while I take the elevator, John try to kick the door in and keep an eye on her as she tries to climb down.” 

The three men ran in separate directions. 

John kicked at the door repeatedly but it wasn’t easy. She had probably pushed something heavy against the door to buy more time. Greg found to his dismay that the elevator was stuck in the second floor. Sherlock was on his way down when he was blocked for a little while by a group of men carrying a heavy cupboard upstairs, making him lose valuable time there.

Eventually it was karma that caught her. She was almost at the first floor level by the time John had forced the bathroom door open and climbed out of the window to get to the fire escape stairs while Sherlock and Greg were yet to reach the building’s front door. She stumbled on the last set of stairs, twisted her ankle and fell down the last few steps. Dazed from the fall and in pain, she still tried to make good her escape but screamed and fell down as her ankle gave away completely. 

Seconds later she was staring into the nozzle of a gun and Greg Lestrade’s stern, almost livid eyes. “I am sorry,” she squealed, realizing she was done for, “I promise to tell you everything.” 

“This time it will be at the police station,” he handcuffed her, “By trying to escape you just ruined your chances at getting any clemency though.”

***

“I was under a lot of pressure and stress,” Chiara was crying, “I had accumulated a lot of loans and didn’t know how to repay them. The salary I was drawing was already quite high for a nanny and I knew there were no chances for me to increase my income.” 

“Yet you took this job that pays five hundred less every month?” Greg asked. 

“I was given a thousand extra by the person who sent me to Ms Emmerson and I was also told that I’d be given a five-thousand-dollar bonus if I managed to get the information they were looking for,” she sobbed and coughed, blowing her nose into some tissues before she wiped her tears, “I did ask why this information was needed but I was told to just do my job. The information I gave out was very simple and didn’t seem dangerous at all, so I kept doing what I was asked to do. I was pass on all possible information on John Watson, especially if he had someone new in his life, some romantic interest. So when Elle Emmerson returned from Austin and started to talk to her kids about him and his boyfriend, I listened to every word and passed it on.” 

“What did you exactly say?” 

“That Dr Watson had a boyfriend, a live-in boyfriend now, his name was Sherlock and the man was a music enthusiast. They had met at a concert and Dr Watson’s boyfriend played the violin much like Ms Emmerson did as a child. She also said that Dr Watson had no idea that his boyfriend was fond of the violin. I passed on the information, word by word, to the man who had sent me to this new job.” 

“So it’s a man,” John tried to think of all his enemies who could be men, “Who is this man?” 

“I don’t know his name.” 

Greg grabbed her chair, “You do realize that you’re already compromised right? Not giving any information on this man could land you with an added accusation of ‘attempt to murder’.”

“No no, no please.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“He calls me from an unknown number. He sends cash to my house. I have never seen him and he hasn’t told me his name.” 

Sherlock touched Greg’s shoulder, “I think I might have an idea as to how we can draw this worm out of his hole.” 

The three of them stepped outside and were joined by a rather sour faced lady detective from the Dallas Police Department, Sally Donovan by name. She looked rather annoyed and said, “Let me have a go at it, I will draw the information out in no time.” 

“She doesn’t have it,” Sherlock maintained, “But by all means feel free to waste your time.” 

“What’s your idea,” Greg asked, “Let’s hear it.” 

“Look, whoever wanted me dead knows I am still alive,” Sherlock spoke with an eerie level of confidence and conviction that shook the two older men to their bones, “If they are fed with the information that I am here, that I might be caught in a vulnerable position where they could fulfil their task, their end goal of killing me, then they might be tempted to make an attempt. That’s when you catch them red-handed, the best proof you have of their misdeed. Just get this woman to work for you, keep an eye out while she does it so she can’t double cross us, ensure you nab the criminal in the act and we are done.” 

“NO,” John grabbed Sherlock’s arm, “This is suicide.” 

“This is a plan,” Sherlock said. 

“There is merit in this plan, this could work out,” Greg supported him. 

“What if something goes wrong?” John was adamant, “This is still suicide.” 

“Not if Captain Lestrade does his job well,” Sherlock said, “Which he always does. Also, you will be around to protect me.” 

John hyperventilated, “No, a thousand times no, this is not the plan of action, no!” 

“John,” Sherlock looked at him imploringly, “This is the only way for us. If we don’t, we might never get to the real killer. That means they will again make an attempt on my life and this time it won’t be in a controlled environment, which is riskier. If you’re not okay with what I suggested just now then please better it. Do you have any better suggestions John, tell me so!” 

John deflated, “Sherlock….” 

“I’ll be fine,” Sherlock assured him. 

John was sure something was breaking in his heart, some part of him was so terrified he could hardly breathe properly, but he knew deep in his heart that catching the criminal was more important than escaping from the situation quietly. Because there was no escape. The killer knew where they lived and they would still come after Sherlock. 

“Fine,” he said reluctantly, swallowing the bile that threatened to come up, “I am in.” 

“Let me go back in there and find out from that Chiara woman when she usually receives the calls from that unknown number,” Greg offered, “I’ll come to your hotel right afterwards and we will plot it all out properly.” 

“I am glad I brought my gun with me,” John commented.

***

The big burly housekeeping executive opened the door to the hotel room where John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were staying and took a quick look around to see if someone was around in the hallways. His face was half hidden so he was sure the cameras wouldn’t be helpful but if anybody saw him from two or five feet away they could easily describe him to the cops. 

Satisfied that nobody was watching, he entered the room and locked the door behind him. Slowly he turned on his flashlight and looked around the suite which had a bedroom with an attached bath, a sitting and a dining area and a small cantilever balcony with garden chairs, a table and potted petunias decorating it. He walked around all the rooms and bathrooms, doing what he had been tasked to do, always keeping his steps light and his head bowed. There were no cameras inside hotel rooms but he was not taking any chances there. Before he decided he was done, he double checked everything and looked at his glove clad hands, smiling with smug satisfaction. 

The deed done, he switched off the flashlight and put it in the small knapsack he carried. Slowly he slipped out of the suite and walked down the hallway as quietly and discreetly as he could, choosing to take the stairs instead of the elevator or the service lift. Closing the emergency exit door carefully behind him, he started to trot down the stairs when the staircase door to the lower floor opened and a thin young boy came out of it. The burly man quickly tried to walk past him when the young man stopped him with a too cheerful greeting of “Hey Bernard, how is it going? Long time no see buddy!” 

The man just grunted something unintelligible and continued his walk downstairs. 

“Bernard, stop, you have been summoned by the supervisor.” 

The man kept jumping down two steps at a time now.

“They are waiting downstairs for you.” 

At that the man broke into a half run and the same thin boy, pursued him like a cheetah, coming to a halt in front of him. “When I asked you to stop, you should have stopped,” he said as he flashed out his police badge and held aloft a revolver. 

He was shoved aside with brute strength and the mystery man made another attempt to escape when Greg Lestrade emerged from another doorway and shot him in the leg. With a pained roar the big bear of a man rolled down five steps and landed with a thump. 

“Get up,” Greg shouted, more cops joining him with their weapons raised, “Hands in the air, turn around, face the wall. You are under arrest and have the right to remain silent. Whatever you say will be held against you.” 

The man was manhandled to his feet and his coat and cap were removed before his face was forcibly turned up to the light so everyone would have a look at him. 

“What is your name?” Greg asked sternly, “Who are you working for?” 

John and Sherlock, who had been hiding in the room with Sally Donovan and another armed cop, had by then joined this party. Since the intruder, who was clearly not a member of the hotel staff (the manager had been roped into the plan and had ensured no housekeeping or room service staff was present on that floor at that hour), didn’t make any attempt to find out if anyone was in the closet or under the bed, none of them had had a chance to catch him red-handed in the act of committing a crime. He had not even touched Sherlock, who was lying on the bed with the covers pulled over his head. 

But it was clear this person had come in with some unholy intentions, because he did appear to have planted something in the hotel room in that short span of time. Now the only thing left to do was to grab him and question him with a few blows and threats and make him spill the beans. 

“I asked you a question,” Greg thundered, “We have other means to make you talk.”

The moment John saw this man’s face, his hand shook and his gun fell on the floor. In a rather gutted and sad tone he said, “He doesn’t need to answer that because I know who he is and I also know who he’s working for.” 

***

The blond woman was just about to get into her car when a badge was flashed on her face and a deep voice boomed, “Police.” 

She gasped at first but regained her composure in a second, giving the man a cool ‘I dare you' look. The inspector took out a gun and said, “Mary Morstan, you are under arrest for the conspiracy and attempt to murder of William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary Morstan is the villain here, no apologies


	4. The Case Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger is averted, or is it?

“She admitted to her crimes. She is completely unrepentant. In fact she seemed to be happy that she had got a chance to ruin your life because you ruined her and dumped her and she was aware that the worst possible way to hurt you was if something happened to your ….. um, these are her words, your ‘boy-toy’ Sherlock,” Greg said in a rather somber tone as Sherlock and John, along with a contrite Sally Donovan, sat in their hotel suite. 

John rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly feeling drained. “I can’t believe this. I hope she goes in for a longer period of time this time.” 

“Oh I am sure she will,” Greg said confidently, “She has taken a life, attempted another one, she has also done several other activities in the past few months that are way out of legal permits. This time she’s going to be incarcerated for more than ten years at least and her release will depend on a certificate of mental health from a reputed shrink. Even then, she will be kept under strict scrutiny when she returns to mainstream life and we will have restraining orders taken out in advance so she can’t even be in the same city as the two of you. Well, I wish it could be better than this but it’s all I have for now.” 

“She was in a different city even now Greg,” John said ruefully. 

“With the level of disorders she seemed to be carrying, I doubt she will ever make to a normal life again,” Sally said, getting up, “I’ll just use the washroom.” 

Sherlock sat quietly, deep in thought. John put his arm around him, “Sherl, let’s go back home tomorrow morning….hey, you all right?” 

“Something doesn’t add up,” Sherlock said, “If that man Zachary, obsessed with Mary and under her influence, risked his neck to come over here to kill me then why didn’t he do it? The cops did a sweep search of all rooms and found nothing dangerous, nothing that could cause a possible death. Then what did he come to do here?” 

“He said he couldn’t find you.” 

“Bullshit, I was right there. He planted something. He went to all the rooms and stopped at the dining table, then at the dresser, then inside the bathroom….wait….wait….there is something, I knew it, I knew it.” 

“What happened Sherlock?” 

“The sanitizer on the dining table, the hand lotion and face lotion on the dresser, the soap in the bathroom, he mixed something with it……” 

Sherlock couldn’t finish. The bathroom door opened with a crash and out staggered a pale, frothing at the mouth, almost dead Sally Donovan who keeled forwards as if she had tilted off the axis. John instantly rushed over and checked on her while Greg caught her in his arms. “Sherlock call the ambulance right now,” John shouted, “It’s poison. She doesn’t have much time. Hurry!”

Sherlock rushed to do his boyfriend’s bidding while John tried his best to keep Detective Donovan alive before help could reach them. 

Eventually Sally Donovan lived but her hands were horribly scarred and the doctors deemed that she would need cosmetic surgery in future. A rare poison had been added to exactly all those items Sherlock had mentioned and the dastardly Zachary had kept mum on this hoping that irrespective of what happened to him or Mary, John and Sherlock wouldn’t escape their fate either. This poison, unidentified so far, had been procured for Mary by one of her friends who worked for a reputed pharmaceutical company and she had made it more potent by adding ingredients to it. The blisters started much later but dermal transmission ensured that the bloodstream was infected within a minute and death occurred swiftly and painfully. 

“Fifteen years or more for both,” Greg said as they left the hospital, “Poor Donovan though. Once again, brilliant deduction Sherlock.” 

Sherlock grinned brightly, “John is a magnet for those kinds of people huh?” 

John cuffed him playfully and lightly behind his ear, “Not in the mood for jokes kiddo. What’s this about now?” 

Greg had caught on and was chuckling pretty much like Sherlock was. “What he means is that you attract people who are not really mainstream. Either hot tempered, insanely clever, somewhat eccentric boys like Sherlock or psychotic and dangerous killers like Mary.”

John blushed, “I didn’t choose her exactly. And why should she even care about me? Is it jealousy?” 

“Nope,” Sherlock answered, “It was pure revenge for not letting her have her hands on your money and then exposing her in court, resulting in a one year imprisonment.” 

“She will be in there for many now,” Greg said, “No need to worry anymore.” 

***

“Sherlock, is it okay if we don’t have sex tonight?” 

Sherlock pouted, “But why?” 

John had noticed over several months that while Sherlock was a good man at heart, he had a bit of empathy problem and was often oblivious to emotions, both in himself or people around him. But he was determined not to let him go to bed angry because his boyfriend didn’t take rejections in bed too well. “Love, it’s not about you. It’s just me. Whatever she was, she had once been my wife. Then Sally Donovan nearly died here in this suite and she is still under intensive care at the hospital. While I cherish you in my arms and am glad that we are safe now, I am too overwhelmed to exchange body fluids tonight. I won’t be up for it, literally.” 

Sherlock gave him a strange and odd look. “You are very emotional John,” he said in a tone that reflected mild disappointment. 

“Sorry baby,” John said as he opened his arms out to his man, “But we can’t all be you.” He was happy though when Sherlock melted into that embrace and put his head on John’s chest, one of their two favourite sleeping positions, the other being when Sherlock was spooned by John from behind and held in what they called a ‘cage-in embrace’. John turned out the light and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come soon and those images of Mary in a prison cell would melt away for a bit. Sleep came but the nightmares came too and some hours later he woke up to find himself sweaty and struggling to remain calm and no Sherlock in his arms. 

“Sherl,” he called out. 

No answer. 

Panic spiking, he quickly walked out of the room and saw his boyfriend sitting in front of his laptop on the small dining table, his face illuminated by the glow from the laptop screen. 

“What are you doing hon?” 

“Looking up a few incidents where I find the deaths had been passed off conveniently as accident when they were in fact, murder.” 

“But why?” 

“Can’t sleep. Too charged up.” 

“Oh.” 

“Why are you up?” 

“Can’t sleep either, too lonely.” 

Sherlock pointed to the chair next to him, “Then come and explore this with me?” 

//Oh the side effects of being in love with an eccentric genius with borderline Asperger’s// John didn’t debate on that, instead he rubbed his eyes and plonked himself down on the proffered chair, peering into the laptop screen as Sherlock kept talking about those incidents, a man who had died in an accident because his car brakes had failed, a woman who was found dead under mysterious circumstances on the terrace of her apartment building, an old dame who was found dead and slumped on her wheelchair and so on. 

At five am, Sherlock fell asleep with his head on the laptop keyboard. John dozed off on the chair, one of his hands on the back of Sherlock’s neck. 

***

“You sure you want to do this John?” Sherlock asked as he paused with the head of his erection nudging John’s now wide and open asshole, their eyes locked together in a silent duel of borderline consent. Two weeks into the incidents at Dallas and Mary and her admirer and helper getting caught for their misdeeds, John had not been able to let go of the demons that came by every night to haunt him. By not sleeping well and feeling constantly tired, he was scared he’d end up compromising his work as a surgeon and therefore something had to give. Finally, he had made up his mind and decided to give up control, letting Sherlock top for once. 

“I do, I really do,” John said, wriggling his arse a little as he tried to get Sherlock inside him, “I have done this before, just not willingly or happily. But with you it will be different, I am sure of that.” 

Sherlock nodded, not looking too convinced but too aroused to contemplate over this any further. He held the base of his member and pushed inside. He was nice and big, though John did outscore him a little on the length and girth, and it wasn’t easy for John to be comfortable with the intrusion initially. He fought to keep the discomfort from showing on his face and tried to breathe deep and slow, letting his body relax and adjust to the nice thick cock slowly sliding in, inch by inch, fitting perfectly there where he hardly allowed anyone any access. 

“I am in,” Sherlock said finally. 

John couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

“What?” Sherlock snapped irritably. 

“You make it sound so clinical,” John kept laughing. 

“And you make it sound like we are doing stand up comedy,” Sherlock snarled. 

“Move babe,” John pushed back on the invading muscle, “But please don’t say ‘Now I am sliding in and out’ like you’re writing a step by step wikihow page on how to fuck a man.”

This time Sherlock started chuckling as well, but he began to move at the same time. “Stop it Jawnn,” he fought the urge to laugh louder. 

“Now I am probing, turning my aim to the right and left, locating the gland in the male reproductive system that is located just below the bladder.” 

“Jawwwwnnn,” Sherlock roared with laughter, but kept making shallow thrusts at an angle. 

John wrapped his legs around Sherlock and pulled him down for a kiss. 

After some efforts and tribunals, Sherlock’s thrusts struck gold!

He suddenly found the spot he was looking for and John let out an unmanly yelp, his eyes rolling a little with the spike in pleasure and sensations all over his body. Sherlock’s eyes glowed with satisfaction and he hummed deep in his throat as he watched his boyfriend’s hand automatically reach out for his straining erection. Deciding to give John a taste of his own medicine he rasped out, “How about ‘I am now stimulating his firm partly muscular partly glandular body that is situated about the base of the mammalian male urethra and secretes an alkaline viscid fluid that is a major constituent of semen, so he can ejaculate with the force of a jet plane’.” 

“Bastard,” John grinned and kissed him again, “Horny little bastard!” 

***

“I added a guest’s name,” John said as he showed Sherlock the handwritten list of invitees for their Thanksgiving weekend in a month’s time. 

“Thanksgiving lunch,” Sherlock looked quizzically at John, “Mycroft?” 

“It’s good to have some family connections left Sherl, believe me you will thank me for this someday,” John said as he rubbed his boyfriend’s back and shoulders, his inevitable overture when he wanted his partner to listen calmly to him, “When things are a bit not good, the more people you have to fall back on the better it is for you. Besides, your elder brother has been in touch with me since the attempt was made on your life and I have reason to believe he misses you and loves you in his own fashion. It’s just a lunch with him, and there will be others at the table too, so things won’t get awkward.” 

“Okay,” Sherlock shrugged, “No harm done. He is lactose intolerant by the way.” 

John smiled knowingly. Sherlock cared. He just didn’t know how to say so. “Noted Sherl,” he replied, “Anybody you want to add in this list?” 

Sherlock thought for a long moment and said, “Yeah, a new buddy I made at the Uni. Victor will be here of course, as will Marissa, just add one name…..Sebastian Augustus Moran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few lines of this fic is the premise of the next story, which moves from mystery to relationships and misunderstandings.

**Author's Note:**

> Third instalment of JohnLock AU series. 
> 
> To get the right context please read 'Lonely Rancher and the Juvenile' and 'Two Crows Joy' first.


End file.
